


Christmas State of Mind (And Heart)

by Scribo_Vivere



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Charlie Bradbury in the Men of Letters Bunker, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Claire Novak in the Men of Letters Bunker, Claire and Jack Might End Up Together Someday, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Dean Winchester, Eggnog, Father Figures, Fluff, For Once Dean Gets A Happy Ending, M/M, My Birthday Is Christmas Eve So I Wrote A Thing, Some Humor, The Bunker Is Full Of Hunters, There Are A Lot Of People In The Men of Letters Bunker In This Fic, Top Dean Winchester, Touchy-Feely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribo_Vivere/pseuds/Scribo_Vivere
Summary: "At Christmas, all roads lead home." - Marjorie Holmes





	Christmas State of Mind (And Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to xHaruka17x for creating this challenge, and thank you to all my readers who continue to leave comments or give me kudos on my work! I love all of you! Happy Holidays! <3

Dean hadn't had a Christmas in as long as he could remember. There had never been a reason to, not with their mother gone and John dragging them all over the country to fight this or that monster.

They'd never been able to afford one, anyway, as much as Dean had wished on countless holidays that he could make one special for Sam, just once.

But now, everything was different. The world outside was still very much the same, but inside the Men of Letters' bunker, the comparisons were like night and day.

The smell of evergreen and peppermint hung in the air, mixed in with the fragrant scent of spices, meat, and desserts wafting from the kitchen. The walls and doorways had been decorated with fancy gold and silver bows, garland, and stockings with the name of every hunter the building housed, and Dean's room even held Christmas cheer, his brother ribbing him about the festive holly and berries placed artfully over the door and his bed be damned. The brand-new sound system Sam had rigged up with the help of a few other hunters was currently playing a mix of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra Christmas songs, and Dean wasn't ashamed to admit that he was crooning along with Old Blue Eyes.

“You've got a really nice voice.”

The hunter yelped in surprise, catching the edge of the gravy pot with his wrist as he spun around. Wildly, he fumbled for the ladle he'd been using and managed to grab it before it hit the floor—but not before he'd successfully spattered his cheek and nose with the (thankfully lukewarm) liquid.

Jack grinned at him from where he idly leaned on the door frame. “Need a napkin, Dad?”

“Of course, I need a napkin, you scared me half to death and—wait a second.” Dean blinked. “Did you just call me 'Dad'?”

Jack's grin only became wider. “Yep. That's okay, right?”

“I—well, I mean, if you want to, I'm not gonna say that you can't--” Dean sputtered, and the young man laughed outright.

“Sam said I could totally call him Uncle, and Castiel said that he 'very much liked the idea of being seen as a father figure',” Jack air-quoted seriously, and then broke into a fit of laughter as Dean's eyes widened. “It doesn't bother you that I have two dads, does it?”

“What? I—of course it doesn't! I'm not some sort of prude, you know,” Dean said crossly, and Jack felt his lips twitch again as the hunter waved the spoon he held, decorating himself even more with the gravy. “Why don't you come in here and help me cook?”

“Oh, I couldn't do that,” Jack said innocently. “You're supposed to cook with the person you're in love with on Christmas. Which, in this case, is Castiel.”

“WHAT?!” Dean squeaked. “Who told you that?”

“Uncle Sam,” Jack replied nonchalantly, “so it must be true.” Casually, he disappeared down the hall.

Dean glared balefully at the array of dishes starting to pile up in the sink. “That kid,” he muttered, grabbing a knife and vigorously beginning to chop up a butternut squash.

“I don't think that poor vegetable deserves your animosity.”

Castiel smiled at Dean as the hunter turned to face him. He wore a black apron over his red flannel shirt and blue jeans, and was dusted with an array of spices, flours, and gravies from head to toe. He was flushed, flustered, and, the angel thought, utterly and completely adorable.

“Cas, you're doing that creepy-ass staring thing again.”

The angel chuckled. “I apologize. I heard that Jack was here a few moments ago to...terrorize you, was the phrase I believe he used.”

Dean turned down the flame on one of the burners, shaking his head. “Yeah, terrorizing isn't the word,” he muttered. “He's gonna be trouble.”

“You mean he isn't already?”

Dean snorted, leaning against the counter. “Well, it's your fault. He was your child first.”

Too late, the hunter realized what he'd said. His eyes widened slightly, and there was silence as Castiel stared at him.

“I mean,” Dean amended quickly, “he's your child because of the whole 'he chose you' thing, and you have been raising him like your own, so I-I didn't mean that we were, you know, _together_ or anything...”

Castiel frowned. “I see.” Unexpectedly, he walked over to Dean, reaching up to carefully wipe a streak of something sticky off the bridge of his nose. Blue eyes, so gentle and clear, met nervous forest green.

“Would it bother you if we were?”

“If we were what?” Dean whispered, and Castiel smiled softly.

“Together, of course.” Dean licked his dry lips, noticing how Castiel's eyes tracked the movement of his tongue. “No,” he admitted quietly. “Is...is that something you-”

“Guys, what's burning?”

Sam's confused, slightly alarmed face appeared in the doorway. With a shout, Dean turned back to the stove, where tendrils of white smoke were curling up from the inside of the oven. Frantically, he yanked open the door, enveloping both himself and Castiel in the cloud.

Dean finally emerged, coughing slightly and holding a very burned, extremely sunken-in pumpkin pie.

“Dean,” Castiel stated blandly, “I don't think it's meant to look as though someone sat on it.”

Sam was laughing so hard at this point that he could barely keep himself upright. Dean glared at him.

“Not helping,” he hissed, which only made his brother laugh harder as he attempted to make a straight face.

“Dude, you need some serious assistance. Let Cas help you before the dinner goes to hell.”

Dean waved him off. “Nah,” he said—almost nervously, Sam thought with interest. “I've got this.”

“Dean, I would be honored to assist,” Castiel said softly, and Dean looked at him.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”  
Dean kept staring at him just as “I'll Be Home for Christmas” began to quietly flow through the

bunker, and Sam shook his head.

“Right, okay, I'll just leave you two lovebirds alone, then.”

Castiel turned slightly pink as Dean pointed a fork at his brother threateningly.

“Watch it, Sam, or I'll let Jack have some of that spiked eggnog in the fridge later, and make you deal with his drunk ass.”

Sam winked and waggled his fingers at them both before heading back into the living room, where there was a very competitive game of Mario Kart going on, if the sudden yell of “WHO THE FUCK LEAVES BANANA PEELS ON RAINBOW ROAD?!” was any indication. Dean grinned to himself; he had a fair idea of who the culprit was regarding that move (Charlie, probably).

“If you would rather I stay out of your way…” Castiel began, hesitating, and Dean glanced at him as he turned to dump the chunks of squash into a pot of boiling water on another burner.

“Let’s get one thing straight right now, Cas. You’re not bothering me, and as much as I hate to admit it, Sam’s right. I can’t do everything myself.” The hunter stared mournfully at the ruined pie. “Obviously.”

Castiel smiled. “Would you like me to fix it?”

“What, you’re gonna angel-mojo it back into existence?” Dean teased gently, and Castiel shook his head. “Hardly. I can make a new one.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “When did you learn how to cook?”

“Claire taught me,” Castiel replied quietly, “before she went to live with Sheriff Mills.”

“Oh,” Dean replied, unsure of what to say. He’d (perhaps foolishly) just assumed that Claire would be coming for the holiday, but maybe there was something he’d missed.

As if reading his mind, Castiel smiled sadly. “I doubt we’ll see her this year. Claire is on a hunt in Texas.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean offered, and Castiel shrugged, though his eyes were a bit lonely.

“Don’t be. It’s not as though I’m her real father.” Yet even as he spoke the words, Dean could see the pain on his face.

“Don’t say that,” he said sternly. “Claire cares about you; I know she does.”

Castiel shrugged. “Perhaps.” Apparently wishing not to discuss the subject further, he moved over to the counter beside Dean and began to pull ingredients from the cabinets above the sink.

Dean watched him arrange everything on the table and pull out a ten-inch pie plate from the sideboard before speaking again.

“You blame yourself for what happened to Jimmy, don’t you?”

Castiel was quiet as he began to mix ingredients to make the crust. He worked diligently for a time, and then wiped his hands on a nearby towel before facing the hunter.

“He was a devout, God-fearing man. He asked to be used for the greater good, and I took liberties with both his body and soul. I broke him completely and destroyed his trust, and such was my blindness that I didn’t even notice when he departed from me for eternity.” Castiel swallowed. “That is not how an angel acts.”

Dean sighed. “Cas, we’ve all done things that we regret, but this is Christmas. Of all days, we’re not meant to stand here and feel miserable.” He placed a warm hand on the angel’s shoulder. “All we can do is move forward, so let’s make this holiday the best one our group’s ever had, huh?” He peered into the bowl, frowning.

“Besides, I want to know what you put in that dough to make it smell so good.”

Castiel chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell.”

Dean snorted, grabbing the towel and playfully flicking it in Castiel’s direction. “Tease.”

Castiel’s eyes twinkled. “Always.”

For some reason, the banter had caused Dean’s chest to tighten, and he quickly turned back to the stove. There were many things he was grateful for this Christmas, but Castiel was at the top of the list; he always had been.

If he’d still believed in Santa Clause, Dean reflected briefly, sliding three pans of Pillsbury Grands into the oven, he would have asked for the impossible. But he had his family and friends around him, and that was enough…at least for now.

#

“Dude!”

Charlie’s eyes practically rolled back in her head as she put the first bite of roasted chicken into her mouth. “What did you do to this? I think my taste buds just had an orgasm.”

Dean chuckled, serving himself some roasted potatoes and squash. “Do you like it?”

“Oh my god, yes!”

Sam grinned at her from across the table. “Dean always marinates the meat in Jack Daniels before he cooks it.”

“Don’t share all my secrets, Sam.”

“It is very good,” Castiel added from where he sat next to Dean, and smiled. “You are an excellent cook.”  
Dean flushed, and saw Jack elbow Sam, grinning. He shot the two of them a warning glare just as a tall, bearded hunter stopped slathering butter on his biscuit to rumble out, “Are we all missing something? You guys together, or what?”

Castiel hastily slapped Dean on the back as the man coughed and sputtered into a napkin. From the head of the table, Bobby offered, “From what I can tell, these two idjits have been in love for years, and they ain’t seen it yet.”

Mary and Charlie gave each other a knowing look as Dean continued to cough.

“Sweetie, you shouldn’t put so much in your mouth at once,” Mary commented, and Jack let out a snort of laughter.

“Mrs. Winchester, I don’t think that Dean knows how to—”

“Okay!” Dean rasped, finally able to talk, his eyes watering. “That’s enough of this conversation.” He was so embarrassed that he could feel the tips of his ears burning.

Mary stared at him a moment longer, her gaze piercing, and then turned back to engage Charlie in an animated conversation about something Dean couldn’t quite hear.

For a while, there was only the sound of friendly talk, playful banter, and the clatter of silverware on plates as the group of hunters enjoyed their holiday. It surprised them all when a young woman’s voice was heard from the top of the stairs, followed by the sound of a heavy bag dropping to the floor.

“Anyone home? Merry Christmas!”

Castiel had turned in his chair, his eyes wide, and Dean felt a smile break out across his face. He stood at the same time the angel did, and Sam threw them a bemused, though not alarmed, look, knowing that anyone outside of their circle would never be able to get into the bunker.

“Be right back,” the older Winchester said, and pulled Castiel into the Map Room, where the angel let out a pleased cry.

Claire waved at them from her perch above.

“Yeah, Holly Jolly Holiday and all that,” she said. “Can someone please help me with this thing?” Gently, she nudged the bag with one elegantly booted foot. “You all want your presents, right?”

Dean grinned and ascended the stairs to wrap the young blonde in a hug. “It’s good to see you,” he murmured into her hair. “Castiel was hoping you’d come.”

She snorted. “Did he really miss me that much?”

“Yes, I did.”

The angel’s voice wavered slightly, and when Claire came down, he whispered, “You said you were in Texas.”

“I was, until twenty-four hours ago. I finished the hunt and saved everyone like a good girl.” She stared at him, something unfamiliar and shy in her eyes.

“What’s a Christmas worth if not everyone you care about is around?”

Castiel hesitated, his hands fluttering indecisively at his sides, but Claire solved his problem, stepping forward to envelop the angel in a hug, resting her head on his shoulder.

A lump sprang to the base of Dean’s throat as he watched the exchange, noticing how quickly Castiel hugged her back, and how tightly. He smiled to himself.

_So much for believing she doesn’t care,_ he thought, and cleared his throat, making both parties step away and look up as he huffed down the stairs with her bag.

“What’s in here, bricks and a kitchen sink?” he grumbled good-naturedly, and Claire shook her head.

“And you’re supposed to be Mr. Muscle,” she teased, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “I told you, it’s all the gifts.”

Castiel appeared flabbergasted. “You bought gifts for all of us? Where did you get the money for such a haul?”

Claire put her finger to her lips and winked, and Dean grunted, “This is great and all, but my arms are killing me. Where do you want this?”

She stared at him as if he’d grown three heads. “Under the tree, duh.”

“We, uh…” Dean had the decency to look ashamed. “We don’t have a tree.”

“Please tell me I heard that wrong,” Claire sighed dramatically, following the man and angel down the hall and back toward the dining room. “It’s Christmas Eve, and you don’t have a tree yet?”

“I was going to get one tonight,” Dean said defensively, and set the bag down on the library table with an “oof”.

“Mm-hmm.” Claire stared at him with folded arms. “Sure, you were.”

Castiel stared at the older hunter just as peevishly, and Dean said in exasperation, “What?”

“I recall a certain someone saying that Walmart did not have decent trees, nor were they about to pay two hundred dollars for one,” the angel stated, and Claire guffawed.

“Walmart? Two hundred dollars? Oh my god…Dean, that’s it. You, me, and Castiel are going to go buy a tree as soon as dinner is over. At, like, a _real_ tree farm.” She shook her head in mock-sadness as she turned to Castiel.

“Hasn’t he learned anything about the joys of traipsing through a mob of people searching for that perfect tree, tying it to the roof of your vehicle, and driving it home?”

Dean looked stunned. “ _Tying_ it to the roof of my _car_? Are you both insane?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “We aren’t going to carry it in our arms back from the farm, Dean.”

The hunter still looked horrified. “Obviously, but I mean…that’s my car,” he said desperately. “What if the branches scratch the paint, or…”

Both Claire and Castiel were staring at him with identical incredulous gazes, and Dean’s shoulders slumped.

“Fine,” he sighed mournfully. “Just…make sure the tree is a decent enough size that all that stuff”-Dean waved haphazardly at Claire’s present bag-“fits under it.”

Claire grinned. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure we’ll find the perfect one.”

#

The rest of the hunters had been pleasantly surprised and cheered by Claire’s arrival, and after a round of hugs and introductions, they’d all returned to dinner, alternately laughing and wiping away tears as Claire regaled them with stories of Christmases past.

Now, with the group having had their fill of food and dessert and dispersing throughout the bunker until later, Dean had begun to clear the long table of the many dishes.

Sam appeared at his side suddenly, picking up a large platter that the vegetables had sat on.

“I’ll help you,” he said pleasantly.

“It’s okay,” Dean replied, with a smile at his sibling. “I’ve got it.”

“No, really,” Sam persisted, with a look in his eyes that let Dean know he wanted to talk, and the man shrugged.

“Sure.”

Sam followed Dean back and forth into the kitchen, and for a while there was only the clinking of the plates and cutlery as they were stacked in the sink. When the last of the silverware had been dropped into the pan of hot, soapy water and the table wiped down, Sam started to scrub a bowl and spoke.

“This is turning out to be a great Christmas, Dean. You put a lot of effort into it, and I know that we all appreciate that.” He rinsed the soap off and placed the dripping piece of china into one of the two large drainers waiting nearby. “Especially Castiel.”

In the process of scraping leftover chicken scraps into the trash can, Dean paused. Without looking at Sam, he replied, “He deserves happiness. That angel’s had nothing but misery the last few years.”

“I know.” Sam rinsed another dish. “I’ve noticed that he’s at his happiest when he’s with you.”

Dean glanced at his brother carefully, his words measured. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sam continued to methodically wash and rinse the towering mass of dishes. Even with his back to Dean, his words were clearly heard.

“Castiel cares about you, Dean, a lot. I’ve seen how anxious and upset he gets when you’re planning on doing something royally stupid, and I’ve also seen how pleased he becomes when you decide to do the right thing. He doesn’t want to lose you.”

“Of course, he doesn’t,” Dean replied, somewhat shortly. “We’ve been friends for over eight years. You get to know a guy a lot in that time period. I…” He swallowed audibly. “I don’t want to lose him, either.”

“Have you told him that?”

Dean stiffened. “No. Why?”

Sam finished clearing the first stack of plates and wiped his hands on a towel, turning to face his brother.

“Dean, everyone needs to hear that they’re wanted, even angels.”

“I want him,” Dean said staunchly, and then flushed at his choice of words, adding quickly, “I want him _around_.”

Sam sighed.

“Dean, when are you going to get over yourself and just tell Cas that you love him?”

“I have,” Dean snapped, but Sam shook his head.

“No, you’ve told him that you love him ‘like a brother’,” he mimicked, and held up a hand at Dean’s apparent oncoming protest. “Don’t try to deny that you feel something for him, Dean. I saw you both in the kitchen earlier, remember? It’s obvious there’s something between you two. And frankly,” he added with a wry look, “I’m tired of all the sexual tension. This place reeks of it.”

For once, Dean didn’t argue back. He stood with his hands loosely in his pockets, staring at the floor.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Dean,” Sam said softly. “But you deserve happiness, too. Why should the both of you suffer alone when you could be enjoying life together?”

“What if that’s not what Cas wants?” Dean said quietly. “What if I’m just imagining things? I—I don’t want to force him into anything.”

“Or get yourself hurt,” Sam finished gently, and Dean sighed in resignation. “Yeah.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Sam prodded. “Besides, Claire likes you.”

Startled, Dean looked up. “What about Claire?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Really, Dean? Why do you think she came for Christmas? It wasn’t just for Cas, you know.”

Dean appeared stunned, and Sam said, “She’s already called me Uncle Sam twice in the past hour. I don’t even think she realized she’d done it.” He stared pointedly at the older Winchester.

“She doesn’t have many people she trusts, Dean. She wouldn’t have come here at all if she didn’t feel safe.”

“What are you getting at?” Dean asked warily, and Sam smiled.

“She needs another strong male figure in her life. You’re that person.”

“Oh, no way.” Dean seemed flustered. “I’m not any good at—at being a…”

“A father figure?” Sam supplied. Wistfully, he said, “Dad had his issues, but he tried the best he could to raise us right, Dean. I’d like to think that teaching us—teaching _you_ —to step up to the plate when no one else could was part of that.” He paused. “If he could see you today, he’d be proud.”

A lump filled Dean’s throat, and not just from his brother’s words. He knew Sam was right about Cas and Claire; he was just afraid of screwing things up.

Sam seemed to understand Dean’s unspoken fears, but remained firm.

“You’re all going to buy a tree later, right? Start there. Claire said she plans on being here for at least a week before going back to Jody’s, so just see how things go. Take it one step at a time, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean murmured, and Sam saw his lips quirk upward.

“But she’s still not putting a tree on top of my car.”

#

Dean groaned as they drove up to Smith’s Tree Farm later that evening, watching the crowds mill about while examining the numerous pines. The sounds of animated chatter and screaming children could be heard, and the hunter bumped his head gently against the steering wheel.

“Shoot me,” he muttered.

Castiel patted him on the shoulder in a conciliatory gesture as Claire smirked at him from the backseat.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” she said sweetly. “Besides, I smell hot chocolate.”

She’d hopped out of the Impala before Dean could reply, and Castiel watched her go fondly, a smile on his lips.

“She is very much enjoying herself,” he mused, and Dean couldn’t help but let out a wry chuckle.

“I can tell—enjoying the prospect of wrecking my baby with prickly pine needles.”

The angel turned to him as they exited the vehicle, his expression serious. “Thank you for doing this, Dean. I…” He paused, a blush creeping up the sides of his face that the man found himself unable to stop staring at. “It means everything to me to have my family with me this year.”

Warmth had blossomed in Dean’s chest, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d reached out to take Castiel’s hand, squeezing it firmly.

“It’s nothing,” he said with a smile, but Castiel stared at him with gentle eyes.

“It is very much ‘something’, Dean.”

The hunter’s heart skipped, but before he could answer, Claire called out from a grove of Christmas trees, “Can you two leave the lovey-dovey crap for later? I think I found the perfect one.”

Castiel cleared his throat, and Dean scrubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, releasing the angel. They walked over to find Claire staring up at an enormous pine. “This one.”  
Dean blinked in amazement, but Castiel murmured, “Oh, Claire, it’s perfect.”

The hunter examined the tree. It was in wonderful condition, he noted—not a branch out of place, seeming to stand tall and stately above the other subjects, as if showing itself off proudly to the three who appraised it. He hummed.

“It is pretty cool.” Turning to the owner, who stared at them with hope in his eyes, he pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. “How much?”

Castiel’s eyes widened as the price was quoted, but Dean paid it without complaint, turning back to the other two.

“I’ve got rope in my trunk. I’ll be right back.”

Claire watched him go with shrewd eyes before snickering. “Oh, yeah, he’s totally into you.”

Castiel frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed the way he stares, and how he does everything he can to be near you, Dad.”

Castiel froze.

Claire did, too, and she swallowed hard, her blue eyes suddenly very vulnerable. Her voice was quiet as she said, “That just…slipped out. I’m sorry.”

Castiel reached out to touch her cheek, his own eyes locked onto hers. “Did it?”

She seemed about to protest, but then whispered, “No, it didn’t. I haven’t…my last Christmas I tried to celebrate was in the runaway shelter, and it sucked. This year has been the happiest of my life since my fa—”

She cut herself off, but Castiel said gently, “It’s all right, Claire. I know I’m not James Novak, but I would like the opportunity to make amends for what I’ve done to hurt you.”

Tears filled Claire’s eyes, and she said hoarsely, “I’d like that.”

Dean chose that moment to arrive with the rope, and looked from one to the other before he spoke.

“Everything good here?”

Claire hastily swiped her hand across her eyes before Castiel answered calmly, “Very much so.”

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Dean stared up at the tree and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go have ourselves a merry little Christmas.”

#

“No way!”

Sam’s joyful shout echoed throughout the bunker as the three stumbled in, Dean tugging the pine behind him through the halls. He grinned like a little child as his brother finally reached the living room, and with the help of two other hunters, managed to stand the tree upright.

“This is _awesome_ ,” he gushed. “Where did you get it?”  
“Tree farm up the road,” Dean grunted, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfying pop. He sighed in satisfaction as Sam’s eyes widened.

“Smith’s? They charge an arm and a leg for their trees. How did you—”

“Sam,” Dean said crossly, “Merry Christmas, and please shut up.”

Chuckling, Sam put up his hands as Mary and Charlie walked in, gasping as they saw the tree.

“Whoa,” Charlie voiced, her jaw dropping, and Mary smiled at her oldest son.

“You picked out a beautiful one,” she complimented him, but Dean shook his head.

“Claire saw it first. All the thanks goes to her.” He glanced at the young woman, who ducked her head.

One by one, the rest of the group trickled in, each hunter as equally astounded as Sam had been. As soon as they were all assembled, Dean called out, “Anyone up for decorating?”

“Hell, yeah,” came a rumble to his left, and Dean looked over to find the same bearded hunter that had asked about him and Castiel’s relationship at dinner. “Let’s make this motherf--I mean,” he quickly amended, glancing sheepishly at the women in the room, “sure, let’s decorate.”

A murmur of assent was heard, and soon boxes appeared on the rug, tables, and chairs. Ornaments of every shape, size, color, and origin were pulled out, accompanied by the friendly, sometimes competitive chatter of where to hang what.

“Dean, I can’t get this star up here.”

Jack’s frustrated voice was heard from the front of the room, and Dean grinned as he observed the young man attempting to reach the tip of the tree, all while not causing the ladder he stood on to wobble.

“Star? We do have a resident angel, you know.”

Castiel shot Dean a withering glare. “Very funny.” He took the ornament from Jack, who had descended the ladder, and carefully went back up it, settling the antique accessory at the point of the tree.

Jack casually excused himself on the pretense of another errand, slipping into the hallway where Dean and Castiel’s rooms were, and expertly tied sweet-smelling mistletoe between their doors.

“Well, aren’t you slick.”

Jack turned to find Claire leaning against the opposite wall, a smirk on her face. He put a finger to his lips.

“Oh, I won’t say anything,” she promised, and then chuckled. “At the rate things are going, I’ll have to make Dean fall on Castiel to get them to…you know.” She waved her hand at the greenery, and Jack laughed quietly.

“Hopefully they figure out their feelings soon. I know Uncle Sam is getting impatient.”

Claire grinned. “I hadn’t noticed. Earlier, he was complaining that he’d tie them up in the basement and leave them there until they decided to confess their ‘epic love for each other’,” she air-quoted.

Jack shook his head. “Both of my dads are very stubborn.”

There was an awkward pause, and then Claire spoke softly.

“It’s almost time for everyone to open gifts. Are you coming?”

“Yes.” Jack hesitated, and then, before Claire could stop him or make a move, he’d stepped forward and pecked her briefly on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Claire. I’m glad you’re here.”

Watching him hurry back to the other room, Claire lifted a hand to her cheek with wonder in her eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Jack,” she murmured.

#

It was getting on towards eleven forty-five. All the spiked eggnog had been drunk (and Jack, as predicted, had gotten sloshed, having been dragged to his room to sleep half an hour ago by Claire), the cookies and popcorn devoured, presents handed out, and the lights turned down low. Most of the hunters had dispersed for the night, and now only Mary, Bobby, Dean, Sam, and Castiel were left in the living room.

“I’d say this was a good day,” Dean commented, stretching his legs out across Sam’s back, who was sprawled on his stomach, half-asleep, but came awake enough at the added pressure to mutter something that sounded very much like “You oaf” before resting his chin on his folded arms once more.

“It’s absolutely been a wonderful holiday,” Mary replied, with a smile. If anyone saw how she slipped her hand into Bobby’s, no one mentioned it.

Castiel gazed up at the tree, his eyes fixed on the beautiful colored balls, garlands, and different ornaments that twinkled brightly in the glow of the white lights that had been wrapped around every available branch space. He looked so peaceful and content, Dean thought, and it wasn’t until Sam coughed loudly that the hunter realized he was being stared at by everyone.

“Yeah, so I’m going to head to bed,” he announced, rather loudly, and pulled himself to his feet.

“I believe I’ll go rest as well,” Castiel replied, and Dean pointedly ignored the gentle elbow in the ribs Bobby gave his mother, saying, “Goodnight, everyone.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” came the chorus.

Castiel frowned as they fell into step down the hall. “I haven’t seen Claire since she helped Jack to bed. Have you?”

“No,” Dean admitted. “Maybe she went to sleep early.”

Castiel had stopped in front of Jack’s room, and whispered, “She did.”

Confused, Dean peered around the corner of the door. There on Jack’s bed, sprawled out beside him with her hand in his, was Claire.

Castiel crept soundlessly into the room and covered them both with a thick, warm blanket, then exited just as soundlessly. He smiled.

Dean smiled back, laying a warm hand on the angel’s shoulder as he reached his room.

“Sleep well, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on a spot just above and to the right of Dean. When the hunter followed his stare, his heart skipped a beat.

_Mistletoe._

“I bet I know who put that up,” Dean muttered, and shook his head. Jack was in for it come morning.

Suddenly, he was gazing into a pair of ice-blue eyes that were very near his own, and Dean swallowed hard. “Cas?”

“Yes?” the angel questioned softly, and Dean finally, _finally_ , leapt off the cliff he’d been avoiding for so long.

Castiel beamed at him when they broke apart, and Dean’s heart swelled. Without fear, he laced his fingers through Castiel’s, saying gently, “I don’t want you to be alone on Christmas Eve.”

The angel leaned his forehead against his human’s, taking the statement for what it truly meant, and relished the feel of Dean’s other hand lightly stroking his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” he whispered.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
